The futile exercise of writing about Burning Man

Reports of Burning Man’s demise have abounded. And so have reports on the great exaggeration of those reports. Some have said that “tech,” whatever that means anymore, is ruining Burning Man. Others believe capitalism or lavish camps are doing the same. The idea being that all the Sergey Brin and Elon Musk wannabe’s (not to mention they themselves), with all their faux-spiritualness and pampered camps, are tarnishing the original spirit of the week-long celebration of art and expression.

But here’s the thing: everyone has their own experience on the playa. That’s the beauty of Black Rock City. And trying to write a definitive story about Burning Man — if you are trying to do honest journalism and not just ripping on something you’ve never actually participated in — or one that argues tech people, the Coachella crowd or just plain ol’ tourists are ruining the party, is largely pointless.

Not to say there aren’t jerks in Black Rock City. Could you run into a guy that only takes, yells when he’s drunk and ruthlessly hits on your girlfriend? Yes. Could you run into a self-important “startup guy” who spends his mornings sipping on a latte served by his paid butler? Sure. But extrapolating that experience across Burning Man is like finding a rusty beer can in a mountain lake and declaring the whole thing polluted.

The term “radical inclusion” is not a cheap buzzword. The open waters (oh so precious water) of Burning Man are too large, the mentality of kindness too pervasive, for bad apples to overrun it. I ran into a straight-edged, top-10 MBA-wielding buddy who was there for the first time and the first thing he said was, “There is no one not smiling!” before he danced off into the crowd. (And that was in the morning before the nighttime, er, activities kick in.)

The mechanical breakdown in trying to write about Burning Man — especially for those writers who did not actually attend — is that Burning Man does not abide by the principles of standard events. When you write about a concert, you review the music. When you write about a carnival, you review the rides. When you write about an art gallery, you review the works. When you summarize a retreat, you write about the soul searching and the solitude. When you write about a party, you write about who was there, what happened and how much fun it was.

All of these, to the thousandth power, occur at Burning Man and if you try to cherry pick a few of them to build a story, you’re left with a basket of disingenuous anecdotes. Black Rock City is not a misnomer. It is a city. It takes a day to walk the perimeter. There are tens of thousands of people, all doing different things. This may surprise you but it is not unheard of to do Burning Man sober. Every day is a Choose Your Own Adventure book with about 500 options on each page. This is why when you ask someone “How was Burning Man?” they typically try a couple stories, shrug helplessly and say “You just gotta go.”

Sure, back here on the sidewalks you can probably peg a Burner by his outfit and feel like you thwarted a bit of that “individualism” claim, but I guarantee you can’t begin to guess their favorite experiences on the playa (other than maybe “dancing” and “saw the Man burn”). And that’s the important part.

I — personally, just this guy — have thought that the essence of Burning Man is right in the logo.

Sure, it looks like a man raising his hands. But it’s also two particles coming together for a brief moment of friction and then moving on. Everyone — everyone — is on their own trajectory, bumping into one another for a hot period of time, and then moving on to continue the journey. You set your heading and go, seeing what you see and meeting who you meet along the way. Whoever they might be.